Gilbert Blythe was only 17.

He had grown up in the small Canadian town on PEI called Avonlea. And now here he was, laying in a field hospital after being nearly blown apart on the battle field.

Gilbert had been drafted a few months ago, and had been serving his country overseas in Europe. Blythe, Gilbert. First Lieutenant.

While on the push through enemy territory, his brigade was bombed. Luckily he wasn't hit straight on, but some shrapnel did get him. So now he was being taken care of.

It had been Gilbert's dream to be a doctor, but now it was possible he would never use his left leg again. One nurse in particular had been caring for him.

Florence Nightingale effect???